Of Dryads and Centaurs
by mermaidsahoy
Summary: This little cupcake was the winner of a SanSan writing prompt contest I hosted on Tumblr. The prompt was: "Rough and drunken Centaur!Sandor stumbles upon the lovely Dryad!Sansa in the godswood she tends". So here is the first part! There will be one more after it :)
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This little cupcake was the winner of a SanSan writing prompt contest I hosted on Tumblr. The prompt was: "Rough and drunken Centaur!Sandor stumbles upon the lovely Dryad!Sansa in the godswood she tends". So here is the first part! There will be one more after it :)

"Buggering gods and hells," Sandor swore under his breath as he glared at the empty wineskin in his hand. It was the last of his supply and he would not be able to obtain more until that fool god of wine decided to visit the area once more. The thought of being without wine for possibly a good length time angered Sandor to no end and he stamped his back hoof into the dirt with a vengeance.

Now what was he supposed to do with nothing to satisfy the sweet craving for alcohol?

Centaurs were generally social creatures, though they tended to mingle with only their kind. Sandor, however, was considered an outcast, a loner. As a young centaur, the side of his face had been burned horribly by one of Hades' demons, and even with the healing gifts of his people, Sandor's face remained scarred and terrifying. Bitter, angry, and resentful, Sandor grew into a wrathful centaur that everyone else steered clear of. Eventually his bad behavior and tendency for fighting among other creatures led him to be, essentially, exiled from woods of the centaurs.

Sandor preferred to be alone, anyways. At least, that's what he tried to believe, as he wandered aimlessly across the realms, picking fights and staying almost continually in a drunken haze to dull his pain and the burning desire to destroy the one who had done this to him. Cursing the gods for their lack of involvement was also a favorite pastime of his.

The only higher being Sandor could remotely tolerate, and who tolerated him, was Tyrion, the god of wine. Though completely different in every aspect, they both shared one quality, and that was drinking the sweet, rich wine that could only have come from divine makings. Sometimes they would even drink together. But the god was now in the South, entertaining his friends by a crisp, clear pool or fountain. Probably surrounded with goddesses and nymphs, no doubt.

Muttering in desolation, Sandor moved through the forest without much direction, still grasping the wineskin tightly in his hand; perhaps by some magic, wine would refill in it.

His hoofs made soft clomping sounds on the ground. Sandor had never been this far North, and though the air was chillier than he was used to, he had to grudgingly admit that it was a beautiful land. The colors were rich and deep, and the trees were bigger and fuller than the ones he was used to. Perhaps the air here was healthier, being so far from the heavy heat.

A soft, musical voice reached him, and Sandor stopped abruptly, ears perked. The voice sounded again, a soft, sweet, lilting song. A strange tingling ran down Sandor's broad back and he moved forward carefully, searching for the source of such music.

Some trees parted before him, and on the other side he discovered a grove of strange white trees with crimson leaves. Faces were carved into the bark, the eyes bleeding with red sap. It was a godswood, a holy and revered place in the eyes of the North. Sandor was sure he was not meant to be here, but the voice was closer, and he could not resist discovering its owner.

Though centaurs were large creatures (and Sandor was a particularly large centaur) they could move quite deftly and quietly when they wished, offering no sound to alert their enemies. Sandor was able to utilize this skill better than any other, and he made good use of it now, stealing deeper into the godswood.

He could finally discern the words that the sweet voice was singing:

_Oh Mother of the Woods, there must be something we can do _

_Although we heed your warning, know that we are not alone _

_We shall sing for the aid of our allies, Pixies, Sylphs and Elves _

_And Nymphs will come and turn the Trolls to stone _

_Singing for the dawn in the forest of the Dryads _

_At the coming nightfall we shall dance along the trees _

_Messengers of green, sentinels of woodland, _

_Bound to our magical oaks eternally, but forever we're free_

The gentle, plucking notes of a harp accompanied the voice. Impatient, Sandor swept aside a clump of tall undergrowth and peered into a small clearing.

Surrounded by birds and other small forest animals was the most beautiful dryad Sandor had ever set his eyes on. She sat daintily on a stump, dressed only in leaves and an airy, floating fabric that left her shoulders, legs, and some of her stomach showing. Her white porcelain skin had an ethereal glow against the dim light of the godswood. She was young, that was clear, but that did not hide the soft curves of her lithe body.

But what attracted his attention the most was her hair and face.

Her face was white and pure, with just a subtle dash of freckles. Her mouth parted sweetly as she sang with full, pink lips.

Hair as red as the fire that haunted Sandor's dreams fell in thick waves around her shoulders, the longest locks reaching the small of her back. A crown of white and pink flowers rested on top of her head.

In her hands was a tiny golden harp, which she plucked with ease while she sang.

It took Sandor a moment to recover from the initial shock of having encountered so lovely a creature such as this, and he swallowed hard, staring at the girl with all his might and unsure of what he should do next. Dryads were very shy and easily startled, and if Sandor approached her the wrong way she might run away and disappear into the trees.

A yearning filled him as he watched her, filled with so much happiness and joy, things which he had been deprived of his whole life. This girl had likely never been out of the godswood before, being tied to one tree for life, so she would never have seen the monsters, the cruelty, the pain and bitterness that strangled the breath out of others. It irked and intrigued him, and the more Sandor watched the dryad, the more he wanted to know her.

The song ended, and the girl opened her eyes to reveal two deep blue orbs, shining against her pale face. With a giggle, she reached to pat a small rabbit that sniffed at her foot curiously. "Shall we sing some more?" her musical voice asked her companions, and Sandor almost forgot himself and answered her.

With another giggle, the girl stood gracefully, gathering some of her attire in her tiny hands, and began to hum another tune. She swayed, then moved into a light, twirling dance around the stump, sending a scattering of leaves and flowers as she went. Some of the rabbits followed her, looking clumsy in their hops compared to her fairy-light strides, and she laughed.

Without realizing it, Sandor had moved halfway out of his hiding spot, gazing at her in a stupor which broke when she finally laid eyes on him.

"Oh!"

* * *

><p>Raising both hands to her mouth, Sansa stared in shock at the giant centaur who had suddenly appeared in her godswood. He much taller than herself. Thick, well-toned muscles chiseled his upper torso and arms, as was the norm for centaurs. The scattered chest hair matched the dark raven locks of his hair, which reached his shoulders, and his long tail.<p>

The tan skin of his upper torso ended into the lower body of a horse, which was ebony in color, flowing down to powerful legs and hooves that Sansa knew could break her body into a thousand pieces with one kick. The only weapon he wore was a sword slung behind his shoulders and back, and he clutched a bag of some sort in his hand.

But the most distinguishing feature, the one that made Sansa gasp in fright, was his face. One side displayed sharp cheekbones, thick, drawn eyebrows, and a strong chin, but the other side was a mangled scarring of red, burnt flesh. The duality was startling.

Then she met his eyes. As dark and heavy and grey as Zeus' thunderclouds, boring into her own; it was they that made Sansa snap out of her surprised trance.

With a little cry, she stumbled backwards, seeking refuge behind one of the heart trees. The strange centaur-man opened his mouth and raised his free hand slightly, as if to persuade her not to leave, but he stopped and turned away, clenching his jaw. Some of his hair fell forward to weakly cover his scars.

He seemed torn between leaving or staying.

Sansa watched him from the tree, peering cautiously. Her initial fright had begun to ebb into something akin to curiosity. She had never seen a centaur before, they never really traveled this far North. Was he lost, perhaps? If so, then it wouldn't do for her to be inhospitable.

Slowly, she stepped back around to the side of the tree, twirling a lock of her hair nervously while gaging his reaction. He looked at her, surprise flitting across his face before it smoothed and became unreadable to her.

"I'm sorry…I…You startled me, sir," Sansa offered, unsure of how to address a centaur properly. His tail gave a little flick and his mouth twisted for a moment before he rasped out, "I'm no sir, girl."

She bit her lip and cast her eyes at the ground, landing on the flower crown that must have fallen from her hair when she ran away. The centaur saw it too, and after a moment he stepped forward, his hoofs making no sound on the soft grass. He reached down and picked the crown up, then held it out to her.

A peace offering, Sansa thought, and she drifted shyly from the shadows of the tree, taking the crown from him gently. His eyes did not seem so angry now, but they regarded her with a heat that Sansa did not understand, yet it made her feel tingly and a little flustered.

"Forgive me, I've been rude. It is only that I don't receive many visitors." Replacing her crown, she smiled at the centaur and motioned around with her hand. "My name is Sansa, and this is my godswood." She was quite proud of her little kingdom, and she hoped the centaur would be too.

He looked around for a moment before returning his heavy gaze on her face. "My name is Sandor." "Sandor…" she repeated with a smile. His tail flicked against his back haunches, and he stepped closer, still cautious.

"How did you come to be here, Sandor?" Sansa asked. The large centaur shrugged. "I heard you singing, like a little bird." "Oh! I do love to sing," she answered, blushing as a smirk crossed face. The scars twisted, but they did not seem so horrid the longer she looked at them.

"You have a very pretty voice," came his rumbling rasp as he drew closer, so that she had to crane her neck to look up at him. "Thank you…" Was her face growing red? The centaur's smirk grew wider as he studied her closely.

"Gods, you're pretty all over. The loveliest dryad I've ever set eyes on, and I've seen quite a lot in the South." Sansa's mouth fell open and she was speechless. She had never been so flattered by anyone before. Her parents had told she was beautiful, but she had never heard it from someone like Sandor before.

"You are alone here?" Sandor asked. Sansa's shoulders drooped and she sadly regarded a flower petal in her hands. "Yes," she whispered. "A few moons ago, some terrible monsters invaded our godswood. They cut down my father and mother and brother's trees, and so they have passed on." She gestured behind, towards three white stumps. Every morning she made a crown out of red leaves and twigs and said a prayer to the gods for her lost family.

"I do not know why they left me alive," she sniffed. Unbidden, a single tear rolled down her cheek. As she raised a hand to wipe it away, a large finger brushed against her face, catching the tear instead.

"Monsters, you say?" Sandor asked, brushing her cheek with his finger. Distracted by his touch, Sansa could only nod wordlessly. "Tell me, _little bird_…what would you say if I were to kill these monsters for you, hmmm?"

Sansa gasped, raising her hands to her heart. "You can't! You will surely be killed! It is much to dangerous!" The large centaur threw back his head and gave a barking kind of laugh. "You have no idea what I'm capable of, girl. Centaurs are good warriors, and I'm the best of the best. Some cowardly monsters don't intimidate one such as I."

Wide-eyed, Sansa stared at him in a mixture of horror and fascination. "But…why? Why would you risk your life to avenge me? We've only just met. You don't even know me."

A strange grin quirked the corner of his mouth. "I'd like to know you much better, girl."

A/N: Hmmm, what is Sandor up to?

The song Sansa sings is from "Dryads and Trolls" by Elexorien


	2. Chapter 2

"Bloody buggering…" Sandor's line of curses trailed off as he ducked behind a pillar. On the other side of the room, the Chimera growled out angrily, fuming with pain over the loss of its goat's head as well as its snake-headed tail. Now the creature couldn't whip it around to bite him while he was busy fighting against the savage lion's mouth. _Serves him right._

Sandor quickly adjusted his steel-plated armor as he took advantage of the beast's momentary writhes of pain. He needed to get this over with and kill the damn thing. The fight had started off as a nice challenge, a perfect recap to Sandor's list of wins, but now he was getting annoyed and infuriated that this was taking longer than he had expected.

Especially since the monster could breathe fire. Sandor had had a shield, but it had finally been battered to no use and he had to toss it away in favor of another plan. The flames erupting from the monster's mouth dug up all of Sandor's past and bad memories, shaking his confidence concerning the outcome of this battle and giving the beast opportunities to lunge at him. Dirt, sweat, and blood clung to his skin and heaving muscles, while fresh cuts smarted and stung. If it wasn't for the fire, he would be enjoying himself.

But he had to do this.

The lair of the monster was an old, broken down temple, discarded by the higher gods for others to do with as they willed. Lurking inside, the beast had been surprised to see Sandor, but nonetheless eager for a fight, even taunting him.

Sandor smirked as he gripped his sword. Victory would be his, and he planned to make the creature suffer greatly.

The Chimera stalked to the back wall, while Sandor carefully moved toward a high pile of rubble, the remains of another wall and pillar that had fallen earlier during the battle. Taking care not to let his hooves make too much sound against the stone, he crept up to the top of the rubble, looking down at the beast.

He was now out in the open, but with the Chimera searching frantically in the shadows, there was little chance it would spot him before he made his move.

Sandor sheathed the sword quietly, then took out his bow and an arrow from his quiver. Normally he preferred sword or spear combat, but this would take require stealth, and besides, he hadn't had a chance to use his bow in the last couple of battles.

He drew the arrow back, as silent as death, and waited for the right moment, never taking his eyes from the hulking beast below him.

"Where are you, coward?" the Chimera shouted, as stench breath and flames rolled from its mouth. "Come face me!"

Sandor glanced down and saw a small rock by his front hoof; he gave it a light tap, sending it scattering to the ground. At the noise, the beast swung around to look up at him in fury. Sandor released the arrow.

The blood-curdling roar from the Chimera's mouth told Sandor he had aimed well, and not wasting any time, he leapt from the vantage point, landing on his four powerful legs and loading another arrow at the same time.

The beast, even with an arrow lodged deeply into one eye socket, followed him, bellowing in outrage. Sandor propelled himself backwards and released the second arrow, which landed squarely in the other eye.

Now the beast was blind, and while Chimeras had a good hearing and sense of smell, it was now at a severe disadvantage. Sandor chuckled darkly as he tossed the bow to the ground and drew his sword once more.

As the beast howled in pain, he ran forward and kicked it onto its side with his front hooves, sending it sprawling to the ground.

Sandor quickly sliced open each of the creature's legs so that it could not rise, then grabbed a large handful of the dirty, stinking mane. "For the little bird," he whispered, then brought his great sword down onto the monster's neck.

* * *

><p>Before he set out on his quest, Sandor had stayed the rest of the day and night in the godswood with Sansa, getting what information he could from her about the monsters. She seemed worried and distressed, almost begging him not to go on such a dangerous mission. Sandor had laughed off her concerns, taking the opportunity to convince her of his skills and prowess in battle, and that a couple of monsters didn't scare him.<p>

Sandor wasn't someone to brag about himself, but with the little bird's wide blue eyes fixed on him in a mixture of wonder and astonishment, he couldn't resist trying to make himself look good in her eyes. Perhaps, if he proved himself, she would overlook the ruin of his face in favor of what else he could offer.

Sansa blushed and grew flustered at his advancements, yet she also seemed pleased by them as well, and the thought of anyone hurting such a sweet creature made Sandor's blood boil, and solidified his desire to kill the monsters that caused her anguish and pain. He would seek to replace her fear with his presence: a promise of protection. Sandor knew that if she let him, he would never leave her side, much less the godswood.

In the short time he spent with her, Sandor found the idea of returning to his vagabond ways disheartening and even repulsive. How could he return to aimless wandering and drinking when one such as she existed? His very sanity depended on her acceptance of him into her life; a refusal, no matter how polite, would plunge him into darkness, he was sure.

Sandor was a little irritated with himself for being so taken with a woman, of all things. That he would be willing to risk death and disappointment for someone was so out of character for him that he had wondered more than once if he wasn't making a mistake, making a fool out of himself.

But the thought of her innocent smile, blushes, and the softness of her skin spurred him on. If he lived long enough to place the heads of the monsters at her feet and have her jump into his arms, then any of the challenges he might endure would be well worth it.

And now, his quest complete, Sandor drew near to the land in the north where Sansa's godswood resided. A flurry of nervousness and anxiousness filled him as he tried to figure out what her reaction would be. Did she think him dead? He had been gone for a few months, hunting the monsters down. Had she forgotten about him, wrapped in her little world with no invasion of the outside?

The girl had smiled sweetly the morning he'd departed, though her eyes betrayed her worry. She had given him a favor to wear: a circlet of leaves and vines, with a strand of her hair woven into it. Sandor was afraid that it might break or be torn while on his mission, but the circlet remained surprisingly resilient, and he wore it on his wrist at all times. When he fought, he stored it inside his breastplate.

It was a silly token, but he let her give it to him nonetheless, feeling a small sense of pride that she should bestow any sort of affection on him. He liked to think that it was a promise of what was to come should he be successful.

As he entered the cold forest, Sandor thought back to his and Sansa's time together. The girl had been shy and hesitant with him, no doubt in awe of how he towered over her and radiated the body and manner of a rough warrior. But soon she began to warm to him, for she was curious, and asked him to sit with her while they talked.

She had seemed so small and fragile, her slim body a stark contrast to his muscled torso. Folding his legs under him, Sandor sat as close as he dared, while the girl blushed and twirled her hair and chattered on pleasantly. Sandor wasn't used to having any kind of civilized conversations, but he did his best to bite back any harshness or crudeness; however, it was tempting to let his feelings get the better of him, when he was close enough to admire her creamy skin, which peaked out temptingly between the openings of her dress.

The girl seemed to like him enough to be distressed when he left her, wringing her hands and saying all sorts of silly things like praying to the gods for his safety. Sandor had snorted at that. "The gods don't care much for me, girl." But he was secretly that she was worried: it meant she cared enough to be concerned for his well-being.

If the gods had any shred of sympathy for the horrible life he had endured up to this point, now was the time for them to make good of that pity.

Sandor entered the godswood, pleased to hear the heavenly voice of the little bird singing. He shrugged the large sack off his shoulder, carrying it before him now.

Sansa was seated on the stump, like she was the first time they met, and at his entrance she gasped in surprise, then flew towards him, leaves and flower petals fluttering in her wake.

The next thing Sandor knew was that her soft, sweet-smelling body was pressed against his own in an embrace. Overcome, he dropped the bag and wrapped his two powerful arms around her, lifting her up higher.

"Oh, you've come back, you've come back!" Sansa exclaimed. "I was so worried! Are you alright? Have you been hurt?" Her anxious fingers traced his shoulders, searching for wounds, and all Sandor could do was drink in her intoxicating presence. _She's going to be mine, I know it. _

"I'm fine, little bird. A little knocked around, but nothing that will kill me," he rasped distractedly, wondering what she would do if he claimed her pink, pink mouth. _Not yet, you dog. Show her what you've brought her._

Clearing his throat, Sandor reluctantly set her down and turned to the forgotten bag. Sansa watched him curiously, her hands clasped in front of her.

"I killed them," he announced gravely. "Each of the monsters you described. And I've brought you their heads as proof." She directed her wide-eyed gaze towards the sack, and Sandor continued, "Your family is avenged."

Swallowing, the little bird inched nearer, staring at the sack with trepidation, horror, and determination. As terrified as she was, she was going to look inside, and Sandor could not help but be proud of her as she did so.

With a cry, she jumped back, bringing a hand to her throat. Sandor quickly closed the sack and tied it up. "They'll never hurt you again," he said, attempting to calm her. "No one ever will." He hoped that last part wasn't too subtle that she would miss the implication. What he wanted, what he desired.

Sansa's large blue eyes focused on him, and the color returned to her cheeks as she regarded him for a moment. This was it. Sandor schooled his features to not betray his anxiety, but he could not hide the intensity of his gaze as he awaited her answer.

Only the sound of birds chirping filled the quiet air of the godswood. Then she smiled, her eyes transforming into orbs of adoration that he would gladly drown in.

"My hero," she chirped sweetly, and moved to embrace him again. A tidal wave of relief and triumph filled him, and he lifted her again so she was forced to wrap her delicate arms around his neck and shoulders.

Breathing in her light, fresh scent, Sandor's tail twitched as he asked, "Does the hero get a kiss for his efforts?" Pink blossomed in the girl's cheeks, but she nodded shyly. Her eyelids fluttered closed and she pursed her lips together in a little pout. Sandor smirked at the almost childish gesture and reached up to tangle his hand in her thick red locks, bringing her face closer and planting his mouth firmly on hers.

If she expected a chaste and conservative kiss, the girl was in for a rude awakening.

When dusk fell and the last light of the sun was peeping through the trees, Sandor and his little bird had moved to sit underneath the tree she was bound to. He had disposed of the heads, forever sealing their evil away, and Sansa brought clean spring water to wash his wounds, and cleaning them with special leaves ground into a paste.

That finished, they snuggled together, watching the shadows grow longer and the sounds of nighttime filling the godswood. Sandor leaned against the tree, his arms wrapped around his little bird as she cuddled into his bare chest.

And for the first time in his life, Sandor thanked the gods.

_Now the stories tell of a secret godswood in the north, hidden away in the deep forest. Within the godswood lives a beautiful young Dryad; it is said that she is so lovely, even some of the goddesses envy her. _

_Living with the Dryad is a fierce Centaur, the best warrior of his kind, who guards and protects her from all harm. For he became bound to her, and she to him, and anyone who seeks to cause her pain will be met with a swift but gruesome death._

A/N: The end J I hope you enjoyed this little story.


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